


More Rapid Than Eagles His Coursers They Came

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03B, Romance, StacksonWeek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Stiles, still coping with the aftereffects of possession, isolates himself on a lonely Christmas Eve, but then he meets Jackson, home for the holidays.   Strangely enough, this may be exactly who Stiles needs.





	More Rapid Than Eagles His Coursers They Came

_It's the most wonderful time of the year_  
_With the kids jingle belling_  
_And everyone telling you be of good cheer_  
_It's the most wonderful time of the year …_

Stiles sighed. “Andy Williams can burn in hell.”

It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. The fact that he was alone by choice didn’t make him feel any better. The fact that he was alone because he had been a completely dick to everyone who wanted to spend Christmas Eve with him made him feel even worse. 

He had yelled at his dad, and Stiles had shocked even himself with the viciousness of just what he had yelled. The sheriff had suggested that they stay at home and watch _Scrooged_ together while stuffing themselves with sugar cookies, eggnog, and pecan pie. Instead of being happy with the chance to spend time with his father, Stiles had responded to the suggestion with a cruel rant. His dad might have been willing to drop the sweets and accept how his son tried to manage his diet, but Stiles hadn’t stopped with his usual admonishment. He had accused his father of being deliberately callous and neglectful because he wouldn’t take his diet seriously. Stiles believed the words _“Why did you bother to save me if you’re just going to throw your life away?”_ had come out of his mouth.

His father had thrown up his hands in exasperation. In the short few weeks since Stiles had been freed from the nogitsune, Noah had made an effort to be tolerant of Stiles’ demands and accepting of his tantrums, but it looked like this particular outburst had been one too many. The sheriff had very purposefully and deliberately taken an entire plate of sugar cookies and the quart of eggnog with him to work, after volunteering to take someone else’s shift. 

It didn’t make Stiles feel better to realize that he must have gotten his immature arguing techniques from his dad, after all. 

No doubt his father had called Scott behind Stiles’ back, because that’s what they did every time something like this happened. His dad and his alpha were conspiring to keep him safe, regardless of what Stiles wanted. He felt smothered when they did this, but when they left him alone, he felt panicked. He would have said that the idea of them having to _manage_ him made him feel angry and guilty at the same time, but since he was angry and guilty all the time now, there didn’t seem to be much of a point.

Scott, like clockwork, had asked him to come over and spend Christmas Eve with him and Melissa. The two families were supposed to be spending the day together tomorrow, so it was obvious that he was being ‘looked after.’ He didn’t need to be treated like he was broken and useless, and so he let Scott know that in no uncertain terms. 

Shockingly, Scott had hung up on him in mid-sentence without a word. It wasn’t the first time Scott had hung up on him, but every time before, Scott had been in danger, whether it was in a bank vault with moon-starved werewolves or breaking into Gerard Argent’s bedroom. Stiles guessed his father wasn’t the only person fed up with his behavior.

Afterwards, Stiles had wandered up and down the stairs of his empty house for a few times before the realization that he had condemned himself to spend Christmas Eve alone sank in. Stiles suddenly felt the need to get the hell out of the empty house, so, accompanied only by Andy Williams, he drove off into the darkness and cold of the night.

Stiles ended up at the school. No, he didn’t know why, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Lydia was with her father in Florida. Malia was with her father for their first Christmas together, and he didn’t want to break that up. Derek might have been home, but Stiles wasn’t that much of a dickbag to show up at loft unannounced on _this_ night.

So that’s how he ended up sitting on the bleachers at the lacrosse filed, listening to Christmas music on his phone. His omnipresent anger had been joined by loneliness, and then by sadness and then discomfort, because the fact was his butt was about thirty seconds away from freezing itself to the bleacher like that kids tongue in _A Christmas Story_. The whole evening was turning into a depressing, icy mess.

Then it began to snow. 

Stiles could count on one hand the number of times it had snowed in Beacon Hills. At first, he thought it would be the perfectly miserable end to a perfectly miserable night but as the snow drifted down in the fat flakes and began to stick on the ground, he began to realize that it wasn’t all bad. There was a subtle power in the snow’s transformation of the landscape into something new. It hushed the noises of the city. The middle of a dark night was filled with white. 

Stiles got up from the bleachers and went out to the field. He stretched his arms out and tilted his face to the sky, letting the fat flakes melt on his skin. It was a childish gesture but the novelty of the snow hit him right in the part of his soul that had never grown up.

It was peaceful. For a moment, just a moment, Stiles forgot the last twelve months. 

The moment ended when he realized he was being watched from the other side of the field. “Who’s there?” Stiles called out. 

“Don’t piss yourself, Stilinski.” The figure called out. “It’s just me.”

Stiles shoved his hands back into his pockets and attempted to look tough in order to counteract the sight of him frolicking around in the snow. “Oh. When the hell did you get back into town, Jackson?”

“Not that I have to clear my itinerary with you, Stilinski.” Jackson drew his last name across several more syllables than he needed to. “But it happens to be Christmas vacation, and I do have aunts and uncles and grandparents in this shitty town.” 

“What? You came back because you missed your extended family?” Stiles felt his attempt at sarcasm drag across the frozen ground. He cursed at himself even as he prepared to say more. His words weren’t funny; they were mean, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I thought that you were the one who hasn’t told his parents he loved them since he was eleven.” 

Stiles felt ashamed; he was acting as if nothing had ever happened to either of them and so much had happened. Before this year, he used his sass to even the playing field between him and Jackson. Jackson had been rich, handsome, athletic, and popular and Stiles wasn’t, but Jackson could never match his wit.

Instead of reacting violently, which had been his standard response, Jackson shrugged. “I’ve grown as a person or something.” The reply was meant to be sharp and acerbic, but it came out as frustrated.

They stared at each other over the lacrosse field that was slowly being covered with snow. Little gusts of wind made the snow dance. As beautiful as the night was, between them lay an uncomfortable silence. 

Silence had never been Stiles’ favorite condition. “You don’t have to tell me that you’re here. You do have to tell Scott.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Jackson shrugged. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something nasty but then he sort of deflated. “Would a phone call work?”

Stiles tilted his head to the side. He thought about making a joke about good clones, but it died on his lips. So many things were no longer as funny as they once were. “Uhm. Probably. We don’t really know; Scott is flying pretty much by the seat of his pants.”

They stared at each other again. 

“Do you … do you have his number?” It hadn’t occurred to Stiles that Jackson wouldn’t have Scott’s number. 

“Yeah. Yeah … “ Stiles dug out of his phone, grateful to be able to do something, _anything_ , to cut the awkwardness. He texted the phone number to Jackson. 

“I should call him now … maybe?” Jackson said in the way of thank you.

“You’re asking me?” Stiles realized that Jackson might tell Scott how he got his number. “No. Not tonight. It’s Christmas Eve. He’s doing family stuff.” 

“Yeah. Right.” Jackson’s sneer fell back into place, like an old Halloween mask. “Why aren’t you doing family stuff, Stilinski?”

Stiles should have had something wittier and even more biting to say back, but he couldn’t think of anything other than “Why aren’t you?” 

Jackson snorted and then turned his back to leave. Stiles’ chest tightened. He absolutely didn’t want to be left alone any more. His throat struggled to make words. “They’re mad at me.” 

Jackson stopped. “What the hell did you do to make the Sheriff throw you out on Christmas Eve?” Stiles couldn’t tell if there was a sneer accompanying the question. 

Stiles shrugged. “They didn’t throw me out. I … was mad at them and then they got mad at me.”

Jackson turned around and thrust his hands into his pockets. “I can understand that. I had to get away from everyone myself. I just didn’t expect to find you lurking here in the middle of the night.”

Stiles studied the former co-captain of the lacrosse team. His breath frosted the air as he realized that Jackson was talking to him like a person. This was new. “I love this snow, but I think I’m freezing to death. Wanna go somewhere and get something to eat?”

“On Christmas Eve, Stilinski?” 

“It’s a Chinese restaurant run by real Chinese people. They don’t celebrate so they keep the place open until ten, today and tomorrow.” Stiles shrugged. “Dad and I go there when Scott and Melissa visit relatives.” 

Jackson and Stiles left the field and headed toward the parking lot, where both the jeep and the Porsche were sitting. When Stiles gestured toward the jeep, Jackson gave him the _‘Hell, No’_ look and went to the Porsche.

“I would have thought you would have sold this when you went to London,” Stiles said once he was inside. 

“Why?” 

“Why keep a car that you don’t drive?” Stiles replied. “I mean …”

“I’m not sure I’m staying in London when I’m done with school,” Jackson answered off-handedly. “I could come home.” 

There wasn’t enough snow on the road to be dangerous yet as they drove through the streets of Beacon Hills. Christmas lights lit up the night, throwing colored shadows onto the streets. 

Jackson drove carefully through town. The snow turned even once-familiar roads strange. “It’s hard.”

Stiles looked over at Jackson as if to imply that he was going to have to say more than that if he wanted to be understood.

“It’s hard to talk to people who expect you to be someone, when you aren’t that someone anymore.” Jackson didn’t look at him but was looking out at the street. 

Stiles turned to look out the window. He knew exactly what Jackson was talking about, and he was quick enough to realize that Jackson would be the one person who could understand. “Who told you?”

“Lydia Skyped me.” Jackson shrugged and made a left turn. “She needed someone to talk to.” He must have caught Stiles’ face from the corner of his eye. “I wasn’t looking for you tonight. It was coincidence.”

“That’s good.” 

The car moved through the streets, the wipers pushing the snow off the windshield. 

“They want the old me back,” Stiles said suddenly. “They want me to want the same things, to feel the same things. Sometimes I do, but sometimes I don’t.”

Jackson found the Chinese restaurant and pulled into the parking lot. He stopped the car and got out, waiting for Stiles before heading in. They walked in silence up to the restaurant and got a table looking out over the street so they could watch the snow. They ordered pot stickers and decided to split an order of General Tso’s Chicken.

While waiting for their food, Jackson turned to Stiles out of the blue. “Have you told them this?”

“Have I told who what?”

“Have you told your father and Scott that you’re a different person now?” Jackson asked him after he finished chewing a pot sticker.

“Of course!” Stiles felt the sarcasm flood back into him. “Yeah, I told them. Know how you risked everyone’s lives to save Stiles from a demon fox, but, guess what, after losing friends, co-workers, and ex-true loves, you ultimately failed because that Stiles is gone beyond recall!” Stiles snorted. “I oughta whack you with this piece of cabbage.” 

“So, instead of talking to them about it, you’re going to yell at them for operating under the misconception that you are the same person, a misconception that you’re enabling? That’s your plan?” Jackson reached over and snagged the cabbage and popped it in his mouth.

Stiles eyes bugged out of his head. “What. The. Fuck?”

“It’s called therapy, Stilinski.” Jackson sneered. “You should look into it. Seriously.”

Stiles needed to look suddenly out the window. He didn’t want to go to therapy; where the hell would he start? Hi, I’m a murderer. Hi, I’m a failure who got possessed.

And to top it off, it seemed to Stiles that Jackson could now read minds. “It’s their job to know how to reach you, Stiles. You don’t have to know what you’re doing.”

Stiles ate the last pot sticker. “Pod person.”

“I ran away to London to get my head on straight, and that’s fucking expensive, even for my family.” Jackson laughed. He actually laughed, not at Stiles’ expense, not meanly, but in a good humor. Stiles started looking for the hidden camera.

Once he satisfied that this wasn’t a joke or a put on, he leaned back on the chair. Jackson looked the same on the outside; he had the same mannerisms, the same facial expressions, but he was different. There was a humility to his actions that made Stiles want to cheer him up. 

“This is so not fair.” Stiles finally spoke as the main course arrived.

“What’s not fair?” Jackson replied, tucking into the meal.

“All these years I was jealous of you for the looks, the talent, the money, and Lydia, I told myself that well, at least you were an enormous jerkface asshole. And now, you come back and you are no longer an enormous jerkface asshole, and you’re still rich, still talented and still handsome.” Stiles jazz handed. “It’s a lose-lose situation.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Jackson drawled with false innocence.

“Oh, my God, yes!” Stiles flailed. “You were amazingly handsome before you got the werewolf makeover! And you know that.” He narrows his eyes. “Were you acting like a butt to make me feel better?”

Jackson shrugged but a small smile slipped out of the corner of his mouth. They ate in silence for a while.

“Have you seen Lydia yet?” Stiles asked. 

“We’ve got a lunch date on the day after tomorrow. There’s this new restaurant that she thinks I’ll like.” 

“So … you two getting back together?” Stiles stuffed down his own emotions. He could barely tolerate being in the same room with Lydia let alone look her in the eye. She had steadfastly refused to tell him or anyone what the nogitsune had done to her while wearing his face. 

“No. That’s done.” Jackson said, momentarily sad. “We’ll always be friends, but the truth is that she saved me and I left her.” 

“You had to work your own shit out!” Stiles didn’t know why he was defending Jackson from himself. It just slipped out.

Jackson raised his eyes in surprise. There was another long stare. “Sometimes doing what’s best for you means hurting another person. It’s an uncomfortable truth. That doesn’t mean that the other person has to suck it up and accept it.” Jackson chuckled. “I’m not competition for you anymore, Stiles.”

“Huh?” Stiles was distracted. “What? No. No. Even if I had a chance with her, you know what happened. Even if …” He ended that sentence.

“You have a chance with her!” Jackson pointed out. “You’re exactly what she likes. You’d challenge her. You’d knock her down a peg or two. You’d force her to excel.”

“Dude, no. No, dude.” Stiles laughed. “Even if it weren’t for the traumatic shit that’s happened to her, she’s so far out of my league. She’s perfect. My epic crush was an epic crush specifically because she was that far out of my reach.”

“Want a word of advice? Stop putting people on pedestals.”

Stiles protested. “Have you met me? I’m a bitter, vicious sniper of the social scene. I don’t do that.”

“Bullshit. You put Lydia up on a pedestal all the time. She was a cruel bitch to you for years.” Jackson pointed out. “You put Scott up on a pedestal.”

“Hey. He deserves it.” Stiles moved his finger between them rapidly. “Both you and me would be dead without him. I’m the lucky one to be his friend. Anyone else would have gotten rid of me as a burden by now.” 

“No one deserves being put up on a pedestal. You know why? Because the higher the pedestal, the harder the hit when you fall of it.” 

Stiles snorted. “Okay …”

“I mean it, Stiles. I put myself on one for years, and it got so high I couldn’t get off of it even if I wanted to. Remember, how many times I denied I could be … that? It’s called an unrealistic image. It’s how we lock ourselves into destructive behavior, because if we admit we need help, if we admit we’re not perfect, then we have to admit that maybe things are beyond our control.” 

“Psych me up, baby,” Stiles teased.

“I am!” Jackson smiled. “You really do need to stop putting Scott on a pedestal.”

“Just because you don’t like him …” 

“No. No!” Jackson protested. “It’s … my problems with Scott are done. I’m not comparing myself to him anymore, because that wasn’t fair to me or him. It’s not fair to you or him either.” 

Stiles told himself that Jackson doesn’t really know Scott. He doesn’t really know what Scott’s accomplished. He doesn’t really know what Scott has been able to overcome, while Stiles succumbed.

“He’s going to fail you one day, Stiles.” Jackson said seriously. “Not because he’s a bad alpha or a bad friend, but because he’s human. No one’s perfect, and if you expect him to be perfect for you, you’ll ruin everything you have with him.”

Stiles was about to defend Scott but he heard the sadness in Jackson’s words. He calculated and recalculated. “You didn’t tell Danny.” 

“I did tell Danny, and he freaked out, and I freaked out more. Danny had always stood by me no matter what, and when I told him, when I _showed_ him, he ran. And so I pushed him away. I cut him off. Because I was expecting him to react exactly the way he always reacted, and he didn’t.”

Stiles thought about that. Danny had never mentioned Jackson again after he had left. It had been eerie. 

“You see,” Jackson sighed, “I thought he was you, and that wasn’t fair to him.”

“What?”

“You’re a dork. A spaz. You’re mean. You don’t respect boundaries or the law or common decency.” Jackson began.

“I’m like totally flattered.” Stiles snarked.

“Let me finish. You had every reason to run from this, and no reason to stay.”

“I couldn’t …”

“Yes, you could have. Scott wouldn’t have held it against you. But you stayed. Through Peter, through me, through Gerard, though this Darka …”

“Darach.”

“Da-what-the-fuck-ever and the Alpha Pack and even now, you may be pissing people off but you aren’t leaving, are you?” Jackson speared a big piece of chicken. “You’re brave and you’re loyal and you’re smart.”

Stiles broke out in a braying laugh. “Are you saying that you … admire me? Hold on. I’ve got to record this.” He actually dug into his pocket to get out his phone. 

He managed to snap a picture of Jackson flipping him off. They finished their meal and paid their bill before heading out. 

Stiles sighed as he stood out in the cold night air. It was still snowing just not as hard. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” He looked over the top of the Porsche. “This was … this was really great, Jackson.”

Jackson pursed his lips. “I’ve had worse evenings. I thought it was going to _be_ a worse evening. But …”

“You should get home.” Stiles said softly. And the strangest thing was that he was sad that Jackson had to go. “Uhm … how long are you in town?”

“’Til Epiphany.” Jackson shrugged. “I haven’t seen any relatives for since last spring.” 

Stiles takes in a deep breath. Something akin to desire to have another night like this has sprung up in his chest. He hadn’t felt this happy in weeks. It was probably the idea of spending time with someone who understood. Who wanted to be understood. Who wanted to understand him. 

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Stiles asked suddenly like it was forced out of his mouth.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” 

“Would you like to go to a party with me?” Stiles felt his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth. 

Jackson’s face kind of did this thing where it rolled up and then unrolled and with slow and deliberate effort, he replied. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Stiles felt a momentary stab of cowardice; he could just blow it off as a joke but he didn’t want to blow it off as a joke. “As we both said, we’re new people. I enjoyed myself tonight and I haven’t really enjoyed myself since Halloween. You’re responsible for that, so I thought that it was only fair that you let me take you on a date.” 

Stiles tried to act nonchalant, but he was curdling up and dying inside. If Jackson made fun of him, he was going to run home and drown himself in a shower.

Jackson stared at him blankly. “Fine. It’s better than having to dance with Grandma at the country club.” Then he smiled. 

“Good. Fine. Good.” Stiles got back into the Porsche. “Onward to my jeep.”

“I’m already beginning to regret saying yes.” Jackson pulled out after brushing the snow off the windshield. 

“I’ll have you know that my untapped dating skills are quite formidable.” Stiles felt a smile appear on his face. “Prepared to be astounded, Mr. Whittemore.”

“Really?” Jackson snapped playfully.

Stiles nodded vigorously. “I mean it. Prepare.”

“How’s this for astounding?” Jackson leant over and kissed Stiles. It wasn’t a world-ending passion-exploding kiss, but it was a kiss. Stiles gave it an eight out of ten. Or he would have, if he could speak.

Jackson laughed all the way back to the jeep.


End file.
